The deity breathed the breath of his divinity on the Diamond in the forehead of the god.  And the Brahmins knelt and hid their faces in their robes.  The deity commanded that the Moonstone should be watched, from that time forth, by three priests in turn, night and day, to the end of the generations of men.  And the Brahmins heard, and bowed before his will.  The deity predicted certain disaster to the presumptuous mortal who laid hands on the sacred gem, and to all of his house and name who received it after him.  And the Brahmins caused the prophecy to be written over the gates of the shrine in letters of gold.

One age followed another—­and still, generation after generation, the successors of the three Brahmins watched their priceless Moonstone, night and day.  One age followed another until the first years of the eighteenth Christian century saw the reign of Aurungzebe, Emperor of the Moguls.  At his command havoc and rapine were let loose once more among the temples of the worship of Brahmah.  The shrine of the four-handed god was polluted by the slaughter of sacred animals; the images of the deities were broken in pieces; and the Moonstone was seized by an officer of rank in the army of Aurungzebe.

Powerless to recover their lost treasure by open force, the three guardian priests followed and watched it in disguise.  The generations succeeded each other; the warrior who had committed the sacrilege perished miserably; the Moonstone passed (carrying its curse with it) from one lawless Mohammedan hand to another; and still, through all chances and changes, the successors of the three guardian priests kept their watch, waiting the day when the will of Vishnu the Preserver should restore to them their sacred gem.  Time rolled on from the first to the last years of the eighteenth Christian century.  The Diamond fell into the possession of Tippoo, Sultan of Seringapatam, who caused it to be placed as an ornament in the handle of a dagger, and who commanded it to be kept among the choicest treasures of his armoury.  Even then—­in the palace of the Sultan himself—­the three guardian priests still kept their watch in secret.  There were three officers of Tippoo’s household, strangers to the rest, who had won their master’s confidence by conforming, or appearing to conform, to the Mussulman faith; and to those three men report pointed as the three priests in disguise.

III

So, as told in our camp, ran the fanciful story of the Moonstone.  It made no serious impression on any of us except my cousin—­whose love of the marvellous induced him to believe it.  On the night before the assault on Seringapatam, he was absurdly angry with me, and with others, for treating the whole thing as a fable.  A foolish wrangle followed; and Herncastle’s unlucky temper got the better of him.  He declared, in his boastful way, that we should see the Diamond on his finger, if the English army took Seringapatam.  The sally was saluted by a roar of laughter, and there, as we all thought that night, the thing ended.